


Hanging on, white knuckle grip

by yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: (which is its own tag for some reason?), AU - pole instructor David/pole student Patrick, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Pole Dancers, But also really a full AU because David Rose is willing to exercise, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, No slowburns here we fall in love like men, POV Patrick Brewer, Pole Dancing, SC Sports Fest, Suspend your disbelief at the door and just have fun with the premise okay?, Unrealistically fast gay epiphanies, Whatever the fic equivalent of the MST3K mantra is it's in full effect here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25485565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau
Summary: David glances over at him with a quick but genuine grin, and Patrick is taken aback by how much it lights up his face.Which is… a weird thing to think about your pole instructor.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer & Twyla Sands, Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 106
Kudos: 262
Collections: Schitt’s Creek Sports Fest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SCSportsFest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCSportsFest) collection. 



> A million thanks to this_is_not_nothing for coming in clutch with transition sentences when I was struggling with time skips, doublel27 for an amazing bracket fill when I needed just one more smartass Patrick comment, and every single Rosebuddy for the validation and hair pats and cheerleading when I made the objectively terrible decision to start writing this 90 hours before the deadline. I love all of you ❤️ 
> 
> And a HUGE thank you to the Sports Fest mods for putting on such an amazing fest! Y'all are the MVPs (or VIPs) 💚 
> 
> The mantra for this entire premise is: Just Go With It.
> 
> Title is from Anderson East.

Patrick slides into a booth at Café Tropical at lunchtime and tries not to sigh as he picks up the menu. Despite its size he almost has it memorised at this point, but he flicks through it anyway out of sheer force of habit. 

He’s been living here a few months now and, truth be told, he’s a little lonely. Sure, Ray is as welcoming and friendly a landlord as he could ask for, if somewhat lacking in boundaries, but moving to Schitt’s Creek feels a little bit like moving to a new school in the middle of the year — everybody already knows everybody, and Patrick’s having trouble finding somewhere to slot in. Normally he’d at least have a sports team to fall back on but he arrived too late in the baseball season to sign up and apparently this town isn’t big enough to carry its own hockey team, so he doesn’t even have that to look forward to. Ray had suggested curling as an alternative which Patrick had laughed off at the time, but at this rate he may actually be desperate enough for socialisation by the time winter hits to consider it.

The only way he meets people these days is through work, but there’s not a lot of time between filling out tax forms and helping people with their incorporation paperwork to really get to know anyone and besides, it’s rare for anyone to come and see him more than once. There was that assistant manager for Christmas World who managed to mess up her licencing form three times, necessitating several trips back; Ray had sworn up and down she was flirting with him, making excuses to come and talk to him, but Patrick’s pretty sure that wasn’t what was happening. 

He really does need to start getting out of the house in the evenings, though. There’s only so many true crime shows he can watch on Interflix before he starts going stir-crazy — or worse, texts Rachel. He’s determined not to fall back into old habits this time; so determined he drove nearly 2,000 kilometres to a town where he doesn’t know anybody because the name of it made him laugh when he saw the location on Craigslist’s jobs board. 

“Hi, Patrick!” Twyla says brightly from near his elbow, jolting him out of his thoughts. He musters up a smile for her. “Just you again today?”

Patrick can feel his face fall even as he tries to catch it. “Just me,” he says tightly, and Twyla bites her lip. 

“That was really rude, wasn’t it?” she says with a wince. “I’m sorry. I know you’re still kind of new in town, and my stepbrother is always talking about how hard it is to settle in every time he goes back to prison.”

Patrick blinks. It’s not the first time she’s told him something unnerving with alarming cheerfulness, and he hasn’t yet figured out how to respond when she does. “Right,” he finally manages, feeling inadequate. 

Twyla tilts her head at him. “You’re an active person, right? I’ve seen you running in the mornings, and I remember Gwen saying you were asking about the baseball team.”

Patrick nods slowly. He’s not sure if he’ll ever get used to the way information moves around a town this small. 

“Well,” she says with a smile, “if you’re looking for something a bit more social, there’s a group fitness class out in Elmdale I go to a couple of times a week. It’s a lot of fun and everyone at the studio is really friendly. You could come along if you wanted to try something new, meet a couple of people.”

It doesn’t really sound like his thing and he opens his mouth to politely decline, but hesitates. After all, he needs something to get him out of his rut, and what’s the worst that could happen? If he goes and he hates it, it’s not like he has to go back. And who knows, maybe he’ll learn something new about himself.

“Okay,” he says finally. “Why not?”

“Great!” Twyla beams at him. “We can actually bring a friend for free on Thursdays, so why don’t you come tonight? I usually leave a little before six, if you want to meet me here?”

“Oh.” He wasn’t expecting it to be quite that soon, but it’s not like he has any thrilling plans he’d be giving up. “Uh, sure. Do I need to bring anything?”

“Just the usual,” she says. “Towel, drink bottle, yoga mat if you have one but they have spares. Oh, and wear shorts.”

Patrick’s pretty sure he can manage all that. “Sounds good,” he says, and Twyla nods at him. 

“Okay, well, I’ll see you tonight!” She tosses him one more smile before she turns around, and Patrick glances down at the table. 

And the menu. 

“Um, Twyla?”

“Hmm? Oh my gosh, I’m sorry! What can I get you?”

* * *

“So, when you said ‘group fitness’,” Patrick says faintly as he looks around the lobby, “you meant… pole dancing.” His stomach is, inexplicably, clenching; it’s not like he has any  _ issue _ with pole dancing. Strip clubs aren’t really his thing, but he’s been a few times and he remembers catching hell at Brett’s bachelor party because he’d been more impressed by the way one of the dancers hung off the pole with just her thighs to hold her up than by the fact that she took her top off as she did so. And he knows it’s gotten a lot more mainstream in the last few years. But still, he feels a little weird being here and he can’t quite put his finger on why. 

Twyla turns a puzzled face to him. “Did I not say that?”

Patrick shakes his head. “You did not.” 

“Oh.” She bites her lip. “I’m really sorry, Patrick. I really do think you’ll enjoy it, though. Please stay!”

Patrick decides not to point out that she’s his ride. He glances around the room again, finally pinpointing the source of his unease as he notes that he’s the only man in sight. 

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?” he asks carefully, and Twyla frowns at him. 

“Sure,” she says. “Like I said, we can bring a friend on Thursdays. We just have to let them know on their booking app, and I already did that.”

“No, I meant—” he glances around again. “It’s not… women-only?”

“Oh!” Her face brightens in understanding. “No, definitely not. There aren’t many guys that come here, but there are a few — you’re fine. In fact, this is David’s class. You know David!”

Patrick does not, in fact, know David, and he’s just opening his mouth to tell Twyla so when there’s a clap from across the room. When he glances up to find the source of the sound, one of the sets of doors that had been shut when they walked in is now open and a man has appeared in the doorway. He’s one of the most striking people Patrick has ever seen; the sort of person you can’t help noticing in a room, even though he’s standing like he’s trying to make himself look smaller. He’s dressed in all black — a tank top and track pants, which makes Patrick wonder why Twyla had insisted on shorts — and his mouth flicks up into a tight smile as he scans over the room. 

“If you’re here for level one pole,” the man says, his voice projecting easily across the lobby, “follow me. I see on the class list a couple of you have brought a friend tonight, so we’ll get you all checked in and go over some basics.” With that, he turns and walks into the room behind him, and a few people follow. 

Twyla nudges him. “Ready?” she asks, but she’s walking towards the doors before he can answer, so all Patrick can do is shrug and follow her into the studio. 

It’s a large space, with mirrors on all the walls and about a dozen poles spaced out, affixed to the floor and ceiling. The students are milling about and Twyla grabs his elbow, steering him to a pole at the side of the room before taking the one in front of him. 

“You’ll be able to see David really well there,” she says, “which is helpful for your first time.” 

Patrick just nods as the instructor — David — approaches. 

“This is your plus one tonight?” he asks Twyla, who nods at him.

“Well, welcome to Ascension,” he says, turning to Patrick and holding out his hand. “I’m David, I’m your instructor for this class.”

“Patrick,” he replies, taking David’s hand for what turns out to be a surprisingly firm handshake. 

“Wait,” Twyla says as they’re shaking hands. “You guys haven’t met?”

Patrick drops his hand as he looks over at her. “Why would we have met?” he asks, aware that David is echoing the question half a second behind him. 

“Oh, I just assumed!” she says with a smile. “Schitt’s Creek is so small, I just assume everyone knows everyone.”

David’s eyes flicker over him. “You live in Schitt’s Creek?” he blurts out, surprise evident in his tone. “What do you do?”

Patrick is surprised too. David’s not the sort of person he’d expect to see in Schitt’s Creek; Patrick’s pretty sure he would have noticed him. “I work for Ray Butani,” he says, and David raises an eyebrow. 

“That doesn’t really narrow down what you do,” he says sardonically.

Patrick can’t help but laugh. David isn’t wrong; Ray has more projects on the go than anyone he’s ever met. “I’m a business consultant,” he says, and David nods. 

“Well, that explains why we haven’t met,” he says, frowning slightly. “I don’t have much need for one of those.” He shakes his head a little as if to clear it. “Listen, I’m about to go through the introductory stuff, but if at any point during the class you need a hand, or want me to explain something — just let me know. I’m here to help.” And with that he marches up to the front of the room, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. 

“All right,” he says. “Welcome to Thursday night pole. I think I’ve introduced myself to everyone new but just in case, I’m David, I’m your instructor tonight. We have a couple of new faces in this class, so I’m going to go through how a class runs and then we’ll get started, okay?”

There are a few murmurs of assent from around the room.

“So we start with a warm-up to get the blood pumping,” David continues, and his voice is friendly enough but the words sound fairly rote. “Then a bit of stretching, a conditioning exercise, then we’ll get into the actual moves. All the moves can be adjusted to suit your skill level if needed. I’ll demonstrate each move for you as we go, and it’s a studio rule that any time I’m up the pole your feet need to stay on the floor. It’s hard enough to come and catch you at the best of times,  _ please _ don’t make me jump off a pole first,” he adds with a wry grimace, and Patrick grins at the shift in tone. 

“At the end of the class we put all the moves together in what we call our flow — it’s really just an opportunity to get some more cardio in, so if you forget half the moves when we get to that point, that’s completely normal.” He’s back to sounding scripted again, and it’s a little jarring. “Let me put some music on, and we’ll get started with the warm-up. Just follow along with me.”

Patrick’s not sure what he’s expecting — something sultry, probably, or clubbing music — so he can’t help but bark out a laugh when David fiddles with the iPad for a moment before Madonna comes pouring out of the speakers. David glances over at him with a quick but genuine grin, and Patrick is taken aback by how much it lights up his face. 

Which is… a weird thing to think about your pole instructor. 

Then David starts moving and all thoughts, weird or otherwise, are pushed out of Patrick’s head so he can concentrate on following along as best he can. He likes to think he’s a pretty fit guy but this is a level of cardio he’s not entirely used to, and he can feel his pulse racing as he does his best to keep up, his eyes flicking between Twyla directly in front of him and David diagonally ahead. 

Madonna has shifted into Janet Jackson by the time David finally stops and Patrick presses his hands to his knees, breathing deeply to try and get his heart rate to settle. Then a few students are walking over to the side of the room to grab a mat and Patrick realises he missed an instruction; he hurries over to pick one up and spreads it out in front of his pole before glancing up. David is sitting, his legs spread out in a V shape so Patrick copies the position, glad to have a moment to recover. 

In the next three minutes Patrick learns that while he may have many great qualities, flexibility is not one of them. He can barely lean forward at all while keeping his back straight, whereas Twyla is bent almost all the way over. 

“How are you doing that?” he hisses. He can’t see her face, but he can hear her laugh. 

“Oh, I teach yoga,” she says. “You should come along sometime!”

“Just make sure you take a partner,” David says dryly. Patrick thinks it’s a class instruction he doesn’t quite understand but when Twyla laughs he realises David was responding to her, and he glances over at him before sucking in a quick, shocked breath. He thinks maybe Twyla says something but he doesn’t take it in, too distracted by David’s position; his chest is pressing into the mat underneath him like it’s nothing, arms behind his back. Patrick can feel himself flush, though he has no idea why, and he’s relieved when David gets them all to sit back up. They go through a few more seated stretches before David moves them into lunges, and when he glances around he sees a few students slide into splits which Patrick is definitely not stupid enough to try. Then they get on their hands and knees for a minute before moving up into downward dog, which even Patrick with his lack of yoga experience recognises, before they’re finally back to standing and David directs them to put their mats away. 

“Okay,” David says once everyone is back at their poles, “our conditioning exercise today is single climb squats. Now, we’re going to want some skin for this, so…” he reaches unceremoniously for the waistband of his track pants before pushing them down and off, leaving him in a very tight pair of what looks like underwear but Patrick has to assume are actually pole dancing shorts. And Patrick’s been in plenty of locker rooms in his life and seen men in far more revealing states of undress than this, but for some reason he has to actively remind himself to look away. 

David clasps the pole just above his head as he presses one foot to the side of the pole before pushing the knee of the same leg into the other side. He clearly describes every move he makes as he brings his other ankle to the front of the pole, hanging there a moment before pulling himself up and lowering back down. Patrick concentrates on the words and watches David’s movements carefully, determined not to completely embarrass himself. 

He doesn’t  _ completely _ embarrass himself. He’s pretty sure. He tries not to watch Twyla squatting effortlessly as he grips the pole tight between his knees, pondering his next move. 

At least he managed to get off the ground. That’s something, right?

“So, the key to this is core strength,” comes a warm voice in his ear, making him jump. He turns his head and David is standing behind him and off to the side a little, one arm outstretched as if to balance Patrick if he needs it. “It’s tempting to just haul yourself up by your arms, but that’s not the aim here. You need to make sure you’re engaging your core.”

“My core,” he repeats. “And, um, how do I… do that?”

“Squeeze like hell,” David says bluntly, surprising a laugh out of him. “Squeeze your stomach, squeeze your… glutes, and let that pull you up.”

“Squeeze my— okay,” Patrick says, frowning in concentration as he follows David’s instructions, tightening his ass and stomach. To his surprise that does help him lift up until he’s essentially standing vertical, his body pressed against the pole, and he grins down at David in delight.

David gives him a small smile back. “That’s great,” he says. “Now, when you squat back down, you want to squeeze again. You don’t want to drop back down; you want to work your core, and come down with control.”

Patrick nods, his lips tight as he tries it. There are muscles in his stomach he didn’t even know existed waking up at the movement but he does it, and David flashes him another grin.

_ He has dimples, _ Patrick thinks absently.

“Well done,” David says. “Two more of those, then try it with your legs around the other way.”

“Sure,” Patrick replies, and David nods at him before he goes to help another student. 

By the time he’s done half a dozen climb squats and dropped his feet back to the floor Patrick’s core is screaming in protest but he feels amazing. He’s always loved that sense of achievement that comes with learning something new, and being able to get up the pole is giving him the sort of adrenaline rush he hasn’t felt for a while.

* * *

Halfway through the class, Patrick is feeling slightly less amazing. 

Two-handed pirouettes were easy enough, even if they left him feeling slightly dizzy after doing too many in a row on one side. Pole walking wasn’t a problem, and he managed to kick one foot out and slide his back down the pole to the floor in the end, though he struggled to balance himself. But now they’re doing something called a spider spin to stand, and Patrick cannot get his feet to go in the right place for the life of him. 

“Don’t worry, this is pretty advanced for a level one move,” David says as he approaches, and Patrick grits his teeth. He knows David is here to help, that he isn’t being condescending, but Patrick has never coped well with not getting something right the first time. It’s a character flaw he’s well aware of.

“Uh-huh,” he says tightly, and David gives him a small smile like he knows exactly what Patrick’s thinking. 

“Honestly, you’re doing really well…” he trails off, frustration flickering over his face. “Shit,” he says quietly. “I have totally forgotten your name.”

“His name is Patrick, and you know the rules,” Twyla interjects before Patrick can answer, and he turns to her in confusion. 

“Rules?”

David scowls. “If an instructor forgets your name, they have to do push-ups,” he mutters before dropping to the floor. “Thanks  _ so _ much, Twyla.”

David puts his all into them, Patrick will give him that; he’s up off his knees, chest touching the floor with each movement. He grunts Patrick’s name every time he straightens his elbows, like he’s trying to lock it in, and Patrick can’t tear his eyes away. Once he’s done ten, he clambers to his feet. “Patrick,” he says determinedly, one more time, before his gaze flicks over to the back of the room and he rushes off to help another student.

Patrick is rooted to the spot. He feels warm all over, his face flushed and his breathing shallow, and he’s… 

Oh, God. Why the fuck is he getting  _ hard? _

“Bathroom?” he chokes out, and Twyla shoots him a worried glance but she gives him directions without comment.

In the privacy of the men’s room, Patrick splashes water on his face as he begs his traitorous body to calm down. He’s incredibly grateful that he wore a looser pair of shorts than his running ones, so at least he probably didn’t humiliate himself, but he has absolutely no idea why he’s reacting like this. 

Endorphins get you all keyed up. And it’s been a while since he… that’s all this is. Right?

_ Okay, but when have you ever felt like this? _ A voice in the back of his head whispers.

Patrick shoves that down as a question to puzzle out later and presses a damp paper towel to the back of his neck, breathing deeply until he feels more in control. By the time he returns to class they’ve moved on from the spider move and both David and Twyla throw a quick smile his way as he returns to his pole. 

David shows them how to do a firefighter spin: “It says fireman in the curriculum, but I’m not calling it that,” he declares and a few people in the class whoop in response. It takes Patrick a few tries to get the hang of hooking both ankles onto the pole but after several failures he finally gets it, and he can’t help letting out an exhilarated laugh as he swings around the pole. 

He’s having  _ fun. _ The most fun he’s had since he came to Schitt’s Creek, and for maybe longer before that than he could have admitted before. As he comes back to the ground he grins widely at Twyla, grateful beyond words that she dragged him to this, and she smiles back even as she does the spin with one hand, a skill that Patrick is in awe of.

David was right — by the time they get to the flow Patrick’s already forgotten how to do half the moves they learned but he fumbles his way through, managing something only vaguely resembling the spider spin but finding his way back. Then they do it all again on the other side which somehow he’s even worse at, but everyone else seems to be having the same problem which makes him feel okay about it. 

David leads them through a quick cooldown, and ends the class with a dire warning to the new students that they are going to hurt tomorrow. Patrick’s already feeling a tenseness in his abs where they haven’t done much in a while, and he makes a mental note to grab some anti-inflammation cream in the morning. He gathers up his towel and drink bottle and when he stands up and turns around David is right behind him, making him jump; he takes a quick step back so they’re not nose to nose and smiles awkwardly, trying to fight down a blush.

“Okay, so,” David starts. He sounds completely different to how he did when leading the class, anxiety threading through his voice. “Um, this is the part where I’m supposed to, like, sell you on signing up for a membership? Except that I don’t really… like doing that. Um, I literally put my last employer out of business refusing to sell skanky blouses to people who could do better. So, if you’re interested in joining the studio, great. We can talk about that. But I’m not going to like, pressure you, or whatever.” He finishes with a grimace, hands moving through the air like he’s not sure what to do with them.

This nervous, stuttering David is a lot more entertaining than the self-assured class instructor, and Patrick can feel a grin stretching over his face. 

“I, uh, I am interested. In signing up,” he says. “This was a lot of fun.”

“Oh!” David says, his mouth falling open in surprise. “Well, that was easy.” He glances over to Twyla, who is hovering near them. “Did you guys drive up together?”

“Yep,” Twyla replies. “It’s fine, though, I don’t mind waiting. I’m so glad you’re joining, Patrick! I thought you’d like it.”

“Great,” David says. “I’ll try not to keep him long,” and then he has a hand on Patrick’s elbow, guiding him out of the studio and into a small room off the lobby where there are a couple of armchairs for them to sit on.

“So you enjoyed the class, then?” David asks, and Patrick nods. 

“It wasn’t at all what I was expecting,” he says honestly. “But I really liked it. Even the moves I couldn’t quite get.”

David nods. “We have a bit of an advantage with a lot of the moves in pole, especially as a beginner,” he says, and Patrick frowns. 

“We?”

“Men,” David clarifies. “We’ve got better natural upper body strength, generally speaking.” He flicks his eyes along Patrick’s arms almost appraisingly. “Do you lift weights?”

“No,” Patrick says slowly. David didn’t touch him but he feels it anyway, goosebumps rising up all along his arm. “I, uh, play baseball, though.”

“Ah,” David says, his gaze darting back to Patrick’s bicep. “Well, that makes sense.”

Patrick squirms in his seat, and the movement seems to bring David’s eyes back to his face, but he doesn’t say anything else. “Do you?” Patrick asks finally to break the silence.

David raises an eyebrow. “Play baseball? Mm, no. I don’t really believe in team sports. I think that given today's political climate, we don't need to divide ourselves any more than we already have.”

Patrick blinks, not really sure what to do with that. “Right.”

David clears his throat before he pulls a bunch of paperwork out of a drawer.

“Okay,” he says, “if anyone asks, I definitely gave you the hard sell. Semi-hard, at the very least.” Then he winces as Patrick tries desperately to keep a straight face. “And… that is a thing I just said to you, so.”

“Sure, David,” Patrick replies with a smirk. “I’ll tell everyone you were semi-hard, if you want me to.”

David groans, tipping his head back as he squeezes his eyes shut. “Great, thanks,” he mutters at the ceiling.

There’s something delightful about the way David reacts to things; it makes Patrick want to poke and prod and tease more of those big, bold facial expressions out of him. 

“So if I wanted to come regularly based on this semi-hard sell, what would that look like?” 

David’s mouth twists like he’s trying very hard to hide a smile before he takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders.

“Okay, so we have a few membership options…”

* * *

By the time Patrick shuts his bedroom door behind him a couple of hours later, having gotten caught up in a conversation with Ray about whether or not he should start a garage-focused offshoot of his closet organisation business, the soreness is definitely starting to set in. He puts the bag David gave him — containing a journal, a pen, some stickers, and the class timetable — down on his bedside table before he heads for the bathroom; he needs a very hot shower to relax his muscles, and then probably an early night. 

All thoughts of relaxation go out the window, though, when he steps under the spray and that weird moment in class tonight — the one he managed to shut down all thoughts of once he left the bathroom, distracted by the rest of the class and then Twyla all the way home and Ray once he arrived — comes rushing back to the forefront of his mind. He’s keyed up and anxious, an aching, clawing heat rushing through him that he knows has nothing to do with the temperature of the water, and he gives into it before he can overthink things. 

Patrick’s never thought of himself as a particularly sexual person. He likes sex fine, sure; he enjoys getting off with someone else’s hands on him, and making another person feel good makes him feel good. But he doesn’t particularly miss it when he’s not getting it and while he does jerk off fairly regularly, it’s usually pretty… utilitarian. Stress relief.

Not like this.

He feels his touch in every single nerve ending, like he’s lighting up from the inside out. He runs the hand that isn’t otherwise occupied down his chest, tweaking a nipple on his way to his stomach before bringing it back up the other side, feeling the echoes of the touch long after his fingers move on. 

Patrick knows he’s gritting his teeth, keeping his mind blissfully, determinedly blank as he strokes himself with long, languid movements. He’s always been good at compartmentalising, at shoving his problems into a little box marked  _ do not touch _ and leaving them there until something came along to blow the box up and scatter its contents everywhere. That’s how he and Rachel kept breaking up, and he swore to himself when he left that he wasn’t going to do that anymore. That he’d start tackling things head-on.

This seems like a good way to start. 

He closes his eyes and lets himself think. He thinks about David gasping his name after each push-up while sweat dripped down his neck to the collar of his tank top and clung to the chest hair there. The way his muscles flexed every time he got on the pole, all power and precision. The way he spread his legs and folded himself in half between them like it was the easiest thing in the world. How he swept his eyes along Patrick’s arms, how Patrick could almost feel it; he runs his fingertips along his bicep where David’s gaze had lingered, shivering under the touch despite the heat of the water surrounding him.

He thinks about the way David had grinned at him, revealing a small flash of teeth and deep-set dimples, and comes so hard stars explode behind his eyelids as he staggers backwards, his back hitting the cold tiles as he gasps through the aftershocks.

Okay. So. A lot to unpack there. 

If it was just the muscles and the push-ups, Patrick could almost dismiss it as a weird brain misfire. After all, there’s only been one scenario in his life where someone has said his name over and over while sweating, so it would make sense that his mind would go there. 

Thinking about someone’s smile and coming harder than he ever has in his life points to a  _ slightly _ more complex explanation. 

He moves through the rest of his shower routine on autopilot, thoughts racing through his head faster than he can catch them. By the time he steps out of the shower and dries himself off he’s resolved to, not shut it away, but revisit the giant neon question mark that has suddenly sprung up over his sexuality after a good night’s sleep and a little bit of distance and clarity. 

When he crawls into bed he finds himself staring at the Ascension bag sitting on the table. Possible burgeoning feelings for the instructor aside, he really did love the class, which is why he signed up for a six-month contract. Patrick’s always considered himself a team sports kind of guy through and through but there’s something about being on the pole on his own, about knowing success or failure is all on him and his grit and determination, that’s surprisingly appealing. 

He reaches into the bag and lets his eyes roam over the timetable. Driving out to Elmdale in the morning seems like it would be too much hassle, and he knows he should give himself some recovery time between classes, at least while his body is still getting used to it. Eventually, he settles on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday evenings; three classes a week seems like enough to help him progress without completely overwhelming him.

It’s not until he’s logged them all in the studio’s phone app that he realises he’s signed up for every level one class that says  _ Instructor: David. _

* * *

The second and third classes pass by in a weird mix of slowly developing core strength, disappointment that David doesn't need to do push-ups, and relief that he knows Patrick's name. David seems to spend a lot of time with Patrick during class, and Patrick tries to tell himself it’s just because he’s so new and it doesn’t mean anything even as he teases David just to see his instructor facade break.

When he arrives for his fourth class, a week to the day after starting, Twyla has brought a friend. 

“Have you met Stevie?” she asks, and Patrick shakes his head even as he holds out a hand.

“Patrick,” he says, and she gives him a slightly predatory smile.

“Oh, I know.”

Patrick’s not sure what to do with that blunt statement, and he scrubs nervously at the back of his neck. “Hey, do you want to take this pole? I’m told it’s the best view of the instructor, which might be helpful for your first class.”

“Oh, no,” she says. “I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your view. I’m fine on this one behind you.” She’s no longer smiling; her eyes are wide and the words  _ sound _ sincere, but Patrick can’t help but feel like there’s a joke here he’s not aware of.

“Okay, well, if you’re sure,” he says, and then David is getting their attention to start class.

“We have a new person in class tonight,” he says shortly, and to Patrick’s surprise David is glaring daggers in Stevie’s direction; when Patrick glances behind him, Stevie is just smirking back. Clearly something is going on between them that he doesn’t know about, and he tries to shake off a twist of jealousy deep in his stomach.

David goes through his usual introductory spiel before taking them through the warmup. He seems tense all the way through stretch and conditioning, his eyes constantly flickering between Stevie and Patrick before darting away as though he doesn’t want to be caught looking. And he probably wouldn’t be, if Patrick wasn’t constantly watching him back. 

It’s not until they start in on the moves that Patrick realises why David was so worried. They’re doing a front hook spin and no matter how hard Patrick tries, he just can’t seem to get the movement right to get his feet off the ground. 

“All right,” David says as he approaches. “So with this one, you really need to push your hips forward, or you’re not going to get enough momentum for the spin.”

Patrick nods, shifting his grip a little. Before he can try again Stevie pipes up from behind him, “Ooh, David, why don’t you show him how to push his hips forward?”

To his horror Patrick can feel a blush climbing up his neck but thankfully David isn’t looking at him, instead closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before opening them again to scowl past him at Stevie.

“I’ve got it under control, thank you,” he spits out before turning back to Patrick with a rueful grimace.

“Friend of yours?” Patrick asks, and David rolls his eyes.

“Unfortunately,” he says loudly, clearly more for Stevie’s benefit than his own, and Patrick hears her snort. Doing his best to ignore her he follows David’s instructions, pushing forward at the start of the spin, and he does manage to get some air underneath him this time.

“Well done,” David says with a grin. He opens his mouth to say something else but then a student on the other side of the room calls his name, and he casts Patrick a regretful smile before striding over.

Patrick gets through the rest of the class despite the soundtrack of snarking and innuendo from Stevie and the second they’re finished, she makes a beeline for David. Patrick has found an excuse to talk to David for a few minutes at the end of every class so far but something stops him going over this time, sure that he’ll wind up on the receiving end of one of Stevie’s embarrassing comments if he does. He does throw David a small wave as he leaves and David waves back over Stevie’s shoulder, looking apologetic.

* * *

Classes five through seven are where Patrick finally starts not being in total agony the next day, and are also the point at which he realises his feelings for David are quickly moving from overwhelming physical attraction to… well, okay, still overwhelming physical attraction, but with the addition of what can unfortunately only be described as a  _ crush.  _

During his eighth class Patrick loses his grip thrice watching David — not even on the pole, just moving around the room — and right when he decides he needs to spend more time looking at David in a less mobile setting for his own safety, Twyla instructs the class to wish David a happy birthday before he can dismiss everyone after their cooldown.

David grimaces his way through an enthusiastically offkey rendition of  _ Happy Birthday _ before stomping over to Twyla. “Okay, who told you?” he asks, clearly trying to keep his voice down but Patrick is unashamedly eavesdropping.

She shrugs. “Alexis might have mentioned it when she came in for lunch. Sorry, was it a secret?” she asks, not sounding sorry at all.

David shakes his head, looking pained as she turns away to gather up her things.

“Happy birthday,” Patrick says with a grin, and David turns to him. “How old are we?”

David’s answering glare could slice a lesser man in two, but Patrick is nothing if not determined, so he forges ahead.

“Do you have any plans for tonight?” 

David tilts his head. “Uh, I plan on popping a pill, crying a bit and falling asleep early,” he says before wincing. 

Patrick’s not sure if the wince is for the unprofessional response or the general bleakness of the mental image it conjures up. “Well that sounds like fun,” he says, and almost manages to keep a straight face as he does. “And while I’m sure it couldn’t compete with that…” he takes a deep breath, “I could, uh, take you out for a birthday dinner?”

David looks at him for a long moment, his face unreadable. “You don't have to do that,” he says finally.

“I know,” Patrick replies. “I’d like to.”

David hesitates a beat longer. “Okay,” he says finally, his mouth quirking up at the corner. “Um, I need to go home and change first, though, so it will have to be the café.” 

It’s not quite the locale Patrick would have chosen for a first date, but he can work with that. “Eight o’clock?” he confirms, and David nods.

“Okay.”

* * *

After mustering up all his courage to finally ask David out, Patrick proceeds to panic all the way home. He panics his way through showering and shaving, panics about not having time to get David a gift, then stands in front of his closet and panics some more.

He’s been on plenty of dates in his life, but not once has he ever felt like this before one.

By the time he makes it to the café with five minutes to spare, he’s managed to talk himself down from panic to just very active butterflies. He slides into a booth and is surprised when Twyla comes over to greet him.

“Long time, no see,” she laughs. “What can I get you to drink?” 

Patrick hesitates. “I’m, um, actually waiting for David?” he says, turning it into a question without meaning to. 

Twyla’s eyebrows almost hit her hairline, but then her face softens into understanding.

“About time,” she says with a smile. “Well, I’ll come back when he gets here, then.” She pats his arm before walking away and Patrick takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm his nerves.

When David walks in the door, Patrick nearly swallows his tongue. Somehow, it hadn’t occurred to him before now that he’s never actually seen David in anything other than his pole gear, and he never stopped to think about how David might dress outside of the studio. Unsurprisingly it’s all black, with the glaring exception of the giant white lightning bolt splayed across his chest, and his pants appear to have a skirt over the top of them which Patrick is sure he could never pull off but David wears with casual confidence. His hair is carefully styled, and the overall look is in stark contrast to what Patrick is used to.

He’s gorgeous. If Patrick hadn’t already been a goner, seeing David walk into the café would have done it. The very active butterflies have quadrupled as David sits down, and Patrick can’t contain the grin that’s spreading across his face.

For a moment he’s lost for words, but then David makes a joke about the nonexistent dinner crowd and it’s very easy to volley back. They fall into a rhythm of joking back and forth like they’ve been doing it forever, and Patrick’s stomach is just starting to settle when Stevie appears at the end of the table like she’s expecting to join them.

Which, apparently, she is. 

Patrick excuses himself to the restroom with, he hopes, minimal discomfiture, where he locks himself in the stall, drops his face into his hands, and slides straight back into panic.

There are two options here. The first and vastly preferable one is that David didn’t realise this was meant to be a date. That Patrick was apparently terrible at asking David out would be humiliating, but far more mortifying is the second possibility — that David did realise this is a date, doesn’t want it to be, and brought Stevie along to try and give Patrick a clue.

His breath is coming in short, shallow bursts and he squeezes his eyes shut, fighting to get it under control. Briefly, he considers whether it might be better for everyone involved if he just climbs out the bathroom window but dismisses the thought — based on the way tonight is going so far, he’d probably get stuck.

This is fine. It’s fine. He’s been in more uncomfortable situations than this, he’s pretty sure, even if he can’t think of any right now. He can just treat this like a casual, not-date dinner, and when he next gets David alone he can clear the air then and at least find out where he stands. 

He can do this.

As he makes his way back to the booth he can see Twyla standing at the end of it, her arms crossed. She looks annoyed, David appears flustered, and he can’t see Stevie’s face but it looks like her shoulders are shaking. A hush falls over the table as he approaches and all three of them turn to look at him, making him self-conscious; he goes to slide into the booth next to Stevie but she holds up a hand, stopping him. 

“I actually have to head out,” she says, amusement evident in her tone as she pulls herself out of her seat. “Thank goodness Twyla reminded me when David  _ really should have known.” _ This last bit she directs to David who shakes his head, a tiny smile trying to fight its way onto his face as he looks away from her.

“I am going to take some of these to go, though,” Stevie adds, and that’s when Patrick notices the mozzarella sticks and two glasses of wine he and David had been joking about earlier on the table. He glances at Twyla, who throws him a wink and a tiny ‘okay’ sign with her hand that David can’t see, and he’s so grateful for her he could cry.

“Do you guys need anything else?” she asks. “Because I’m just heading out.”

Patrick shakes his head as he slides into the seat Stevie just vacated, and David does the same. Stevie follows Twyla away from the table and then it’s just him and David, gazing across a plate of unfortunate-looking cheese sticks at each other without speaking.

“Shall we?” Patrick finally asks as he picks up one of the mozzarella sticks, and David’s smile gets wider as he does the same. They tap them together in the imitation of a toast before each taking a bite. David winces, his face reflecting Patrick’s feelings at the taste — they both take a swig of wine to wash it down.

“So, I’m curious,” Patrick says once he’s finally swallowed. “How did you get into pole?”

David reaches for another mozzarella stick and takes a bite, then pulls a face like he regrets it immediately.

“I started when I lived in New York,” he says once he’s finished chewing. “A girlfriend dragged me along to a class; turned out I liked pole a lot more than she liked me.” He shrugs, grabbing another stick as Patrick tenses.

_ He dates women. He can’t be interested. _

_ You were engaged to a woman, idiot; that doesn’t mean anything. _

“Anyway,” David continues, “I ended up getting pretty good, won a few competitions and stuff. Then we wound up here and I didn’t do it for a long time. I got a job in Elmdale and that’s when I found Ascension and started attending classes again. The store I was working in ended up closing and I had this idea… but it didn’t work out, and I didn’t have a job, and Alison asked if I’d be interested in taking a few classes. I said yes, and got certified as an instructor, and here we are.”

There’s a tenseness in David’s voice that Patrick doesn’t quite understand. “Do you like it?” he asks carefully.

“I…” David pauses like he’s really considering the question. “It’s not what I thought I’d be doing. Even a few months ago, I thought— but anyway. Um, I love pole dancing. I like seeing students achieving something, seeing them progress.” 

“But not the actual teaching,” Patrick guesses, and David frowns. 

“I don’t  _ not _ like it,” he says slowly. “I guess I just feel like I have to… be a different person when I’m teaching? I don’t know. That bubbly, supportive thing is more my sister than me. Being up in front of people all the time is… a lot.”

Patrick nods. “Yeah, I get that.”

David clears his throat. “Anyway, that’s a lot of talking about me.” He leans forward in his seat, eyes locked on Patrick’s. “What brought you to Schitt’s Creek?”

* * *

From a calamitous start, it turns out to be a really good date. Patrick laughs harder than he’s laughed in a long time as David regales him with tales of his family’s antics, about his arrival in Schitt’s Creek (somehow, he’s having trouble envisaging David at a tailgate party), and some of the crazy stories from the pole studio. In turn, Patrick talks about what it’s like living with Ray and a few stories from his university days, and if David notices he’s skipping over a big chunk of his life he’s too polite to point it out. Patrick is sure he sees David’s gaze fall to his lips a few times as he’s talking and hope kickstarts under his skin again; when they finally leave the café he offers David a ride home, eager to stretch the night out a little longer, and David quickly agrees.

By the time they pull into the motel parking lot, Patrick’s heart is racing. He parks up and switches off the ignition and tries to calm his nerves as David turns to look at him.

“Well, that was a fun night,” he says.

Patrick takes a deep breath. “I’m really glad I joined your class, David,” he says softly.

David looks like he’s warring between surprise and delight. “That is a really lovely thing to say,” he replies, and Patrick can’t resist teasing him, just a little.

"‘And I'm so glad you did, Patrick, because otherwise I never would have had such a lovely birthday dinner’," he prods. 

“Mm,” David says, pressing his lips together like he’s trying not to laugh. “A bold claim.”

They lapse into silence. David is right there. He’s  _ right there. _ His mouth is right there, if Patrick could just muster up the courage to— 

David leans forward a fraction before hesitating, and Patrick stops breathing. He lets his eyes flick down to David’s lips, deliberately, and then a surprisingly gentle hand is behind his neck and David’s mouth is pressed up against his and time stops.

Not once in his nearly thirty years on the planet has kissing felt like this.

Far too soon for his liking, David pulls away; it takes a moment for Patrick to remember how to form words.

“Thank you,” is all he can think to say, so he does.

David smiles at him, clearly puzzled. “For what?”

The words come tumbling out before he can stop them. “I’ve never done that before, with a guy,” he says, raw and far too honest, but David doesn’t seem to mind.

“Okay…” is all he says. He’s leaving room for Patrick to keep going, he realises, and can’t hold back the rush of affection that accompanies that understanding.

“Yeah,” he continues, because he might as well just get it all out there. “And, uh, I was getting a little scared that I was going to let you leave here without us having done that. So, uh, thank you. For making that happen for us.”

David shakes his head even as he’s smiling, clearly lost for words. “Well,” he says after a moment, “fortunately, I am a very generous person. So.” His eyes are sparkling, obviously teasing, and Patrick wants to laugh and cry and kiss him again and maybe follow him into his motel room.

“Can we talk tomorrow?” he asks in lieu of doing any of that and David nods, his face softening in understanding as though he knows Patrick needs time to process.

“We can talk any time you like,” he says quietly before adding, “just preferably not before 10am. I'm not really a morning person.” 

“Can we get breakfast tomorrow?” he asks, and then amends, “Well, brunch?”

David looks surprised. “We— yes,” he says. “Yes, we can do brunch. Um, I will see you at ten?”

Patrick nods, trying and almost definitely failing not to appear too eager. “Goodnight, David,” he says as David gets out of the car, and David bends back down to say goodnight through the window.

* * *

Patrick wakes up at 5am and the only thought on his mind is:  _ David kissed me. _

It’s not surprising.  _ David kissed me, David kissed me, David kissed me _ had clanged in his head throughout the short drive home from the motel, crowding out everything as Patrick brought the hand that wasn’t on the steering wheel to his mouth, tracing a line where he could still feel David’s lips. It was the background noise to a mercifully brief conversation with Ray before it became the lead vocals when he stepped into the shower and finally had something more tangible than his imagination to let coil through him.

It’s far too early, and if he doesn’t find some way to keep himself busy he might do something truly crazy like go to the café five hours ahead of schedule. Instead of giving in to that impulse he gets up, throws on his hiking gear and drives up to Rattlesnake Point. He started coming here not long after he arrived in town and there’s something about the ridge that he finds incredibly peaceful; he’s been up here almost every morning since meeting David, trying to untangle the confusion being in his presence stirred up. Kissing David last night, he’s finally found the right string to pull to unravel the knot; finally understands that all those things he’s been told his whole life he’s supposed to feel weren’t just Hallmark nonsense.

By the time he makes it to the ridge he’s sweating and sore and more relaxed than he’s been in a very, very long time. He sits on a rock and just gazes out over the valley for a while, enjoying the peace and quiet in his own head finally matching the tranquillity of the spot.

“I’m gay,” he says, testing the words out with only the birds and squirrels to bear witness. It’s the final satisfying snap of completing a Rubik’s Cube, the slide into home plate after being stuck on the third. It’s the truest thing he’s said in a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

Brunch is a disaster. 

He’s not sure what to do with his face or his hands or his body when David slides in next to him rather than sitting opposite; he finally accepts a kiss on the cheek with a blush and an awkward laugh. He accidentally confesses to waking up so early, which he definitely wasn’t planning on revealing, and somehow gives David the impression that Patrick  _ regrets _ their kiss which is a misconception he rushes to dispel. And then, just when he’s starting to relax David suggests a sleepover and brings Patrick’s brain screeching to a halt as he tries to figure out how to tell David he needs to go slow; their voices are tripping over each other when David’s mom materialises on the other side of the booth and Patrick takes the opportunity to mutter something about ordering, clambering out of the seat once David stands to let him out and basically fleeing to the counter and Twyla’s sympathetic ear. 

And yet, by some miracle, they turn it around. Patrick manages to talk Mrs Rose (and David) off the ledge, assuring them that she has not actually committed murder and choosing not to point out that if she had, the café might not be the best place to discuss it. Once she’s gone David almost falls over himself trying to apologise but Patrick shakes his head quickly, cutting him off. 

“I’m sorry for assuming you just wanted to stay at my house to… to sleep with me, or whatever,” he says, fighting a blush at his presumption, but the look David gives him, as well as his tone when he agrees, makes him think it wasn’t such a leap after all and it warms him from the inside out. 

He knows he’s not ready for the reality yet, but the thought is certainly very nice. Knowing David wants him, even if it’s only a fraction of the desire welling up in Patrick, is a heady feeling; maybe that’s why he ends up being far too honest about how different this is for him. But then they’re teasing each other, and it feels natural for Patrick to lean in and kiss him, so he does. 

It’s just as good the second time. And the third time. 

* * *

On Sundays, Ascension doesn’t have any classes until mid-afternoon; David apparently uses one of the studios for training time in the mornings. He expresses surprise that Patrick wants to see him three days in a row when Patrick asks if he can meet him there to grab lunch in Elmdale but agrees with a cautious smile, which is how Patrick finds himself pulling into an empty parking lot late the next morning. The studio doors are unlocked and Patrick follows the sound of Mariah Carey into one of the rooms, a joke about David’s music taste dying on his tongue as he enters. 

David is up the pole. 

Not a few inches off the ground like he is when demonstrating moves in class. He’s  _ up _ the pole, almost at the ceiling, his hands the only contact point as he holds his body out horizontally, arms and legs both spread out so he looks like an X. He makes it look effortless and Patrick’s mouth is dry, pulse thundering in his ears as he approaches. 

David looks down at him and grins. “Hi,” he calls out over the music before he brings the foot closest to the ceiling to the pole, using it for momentum to spin backwards as he lets one hand go, tucking his body in so he can wrap his thighs tight around the pole, ankles crossed; as Patrick gets closer he releases his other hand so he’s just hanging there before he starts a controlled slide down until their faces are level. Even upside down, David’s teasing smirk is unmistakable and Patrick desperately wants to kiss it off his face, so he takes a final step forward and does exactly that. David moans and Patrick licks into his mouth, the angle all wrong and somehow thrilling. 

When he brings a hand up to stroke along David’s jaw David pulls away with a gasp, eyes dark. “Back up a sec,” he says in a low voice and Patrick does, stepping away from the pole as David crunches, bringing his hands above his legs on the pole to flip himself upright before sliding down to land with his feet on the floor. 

“Hi,” he murmurs again once he’s finally standing, and it’s only then that Patrick truly registers how little David is wearing — just a pair of black spandex pole shorts that cling to him in a way Patrick can’t bring himself to object to as he lets his gaze linger. David clears his throat, rushing over to the side of the room to tug on a pair of sweatpants and a black t-shirt before returning to reach out a hand that Patrick takes willingly, letting himself be drawn in as David presses his back to the pole and pulls Patrick flush against him.

This time, when David kisses him, he lets himself sink into it. His hands come up to grip at David’s waist like a lifeline, keeping him afloat while he drowns in sensation. Every contact point with David’s body feels like electrical currents under his skin, a thousand volts rushing through him with every breath, every sigh, every swipe of his tongue until his whole body is thrumming. He presses somehow closer, one hand finding its way into David’s hair and burrowing there, fingers stroking softly as David whimpers into his mouth. 

The front door bangs loudly and they break apart, panting. 

“Hi, David— oh, sorry, am I interrupting?” comes a sunny voice from the doorway. When Patrick turns there’s a vaguely familiar-looking woman leaning against the doorframe, long blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail high on her forehead. She’s grinning at them, clearly deducing from Patrick’s jeans and button-up that he’s not there for a private lesson. 

“Hey, Alison,” David says with a sigh, and Patrick realises why she looks familiar — she’s the owner of the studio; her picture is on the website and Patrick’s pretty sure he’s seen her in the lobby before class once or twice. “We were just heading out for lunch, actually,” he continues, and if he’s annoyed at the interruption he doesn’t show it. “Room’s all yours.”

* * *

The next three weeks see Patrick shift fairly rapidly from  _ let’s go slow _ to  _ where the hell can we find some privacy. _ Friday after class finds them in Patrick’s car, having waited until the parking lot cleared out to climb into the back seat out of a sense of decorum — though Patrick isn’t sure how much decorum there is to be found in this position, his thighs bracketing David’s, straddling him with his head almost bumping the ceiling every time he rises up before grinding down again with David’s hands on his ass pulling him impossibly closer. His hands are tangled in David’s hair, tugging lightly as David sucks what is promising to be a truly impressive hickey into Patrick’s collarbone, just below where his shirt will cover it up. Patrick’s movements are getting faster, more frantic; the first time he comes with another man it’s going to be in his pants in his back seat and he doesn’t even care, not with David’s hands on him—

There’s a long, loud car horn from the street and they break apart with a start, breathing heavily. They stare at each other, David with wide eyes and mussed hair and Patrick is sure he’s not much better. Nothing happens for about a minute and Patrick is just leaning in for a kiss when there’s a loud rapping sound on the front window. 

“Fuck,” David hisses before looking past Patrick to the source of the noise. Then he groans.  _ “Fuck.” _

Patrick turns around to find Stevie peering through the windshield at him, a huge grin on her face. 

“Oh my God,” he mutters, awkwardly unhooking himself from David’s lap and scrubbing a hand over his eyes. David opens the door and steps out and Patrick follows him, well aware that staying in the car will only result in worse teasing from Stevie later. Better to get it all out in one fell swoop.

“Where the fuck did you spring up from?” David hisses at her. “And how did you figure out it was us?”

Stevie rolls her eyes. “I was driving past and saw two cars in the parking lot of your place of employment. One of them is the Lincoln and the other one was all fogged up. It didn’t exactly take a huge leap of deductive reasoning.” Her eyes flicker between them and while she’s definitely still mocking them, she does also look slightly — slightly — sympathetic. “Desperate times, huh?”

“No, trying times,” David corrects her quickly, and Patrick can’t hide his smile. “Nothing about this is desperate. It’s just that there’s a lot of people at the motel, and Patrick is renting a room from Ray—”

“Who really likes to chat,” Patrick interjects, pained. The few times he’s taken David to his place have been both awkward and a mood-killer.

“Yeah, so there has literally been zero privacy,” David finishes with a grimace.

“Well,” Stevie says, “if you want, I’m happy to offer you guys my apartment for the night.”

Hope flares up in Patrick’s chest, but is tempered when David starts questioning her motives and Patrick eyes him carefully. He thought David was as into this as he is, but the fact that he now seems to be pushing back on this very rare chance makes him hesitate. But David’s hand finds its way to his lower back, stroking softly, the casual affection holding off the spiral he couldn’t have even known was building in Patrick’s brain. Then Patrick wonders if maybe it’s their history that’s making it awkward and musters up the courage to ask, but they both fall over themselves to assure him that they never had sex at Stevie’s.

“What exactly is the catch?” David finally asks, and Stevie scowls at him.

“No catch.”

David opens his mouth to ask another question, but Patrick has had enough. Now that the opportunity is right here in front of them, he’s a little worried that if he doesn’t get his hands on David tonight he might actually explode.

“David!” he breaks in, looking at Stevie. “We’ll take the place.”

David whips his head around, his lip turning up at the corner as he stares at Patrick. “Okay, we’ll take the place,” he confirms with a grin.

“Great,” Stevie says, fiddling with her keyring. “Well, here’s the door key. You can just make  yourselves at home. Just so you know, there’s nothing in the fridge.”

“Mm-hmm,” David says as she drops a key in his palm. “You know, you never did explain  _ why _ you were driving through Elmdale tonight.”

“I’m taking some me time,” Stevie says, her eyes sliding away. “Going to a spa.”

Before David can make another comment they hear a car door close and then a man approaches them. He looks like a lumberjack, towering over Stevie and standing a few inches taller than David. Patrick’s new to this whole gay thing but he’s aware that the guy is ridiculously good-looking and he glances away to find Stevie glaring at the newcomer and David staring at Stevie.

“Hey Pony,” the guy says to Stevie. “You ready to go?”

“I told you to wait in the car,” she hisses, and he shrugs before glancing over at David.

“David,” he says pleasantly, “it’s been a while.” And then he leans over and kisses David —  _ on the lips _ — and Patrick’s brain reboots.

* * *

“Sorry, I've just got to go through that one more time.” They’re sitting in Patrick’s car, Patrick in the driver’s seat with his hand clenched on the steering wheel even though they’re still parked up. “So, you dated Jake, and then Stevie dated Jake. And at one point, you all—”

“No,” David cuts in. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. We almost  _ all, _ but I said no. Because Stevie and I agreed that would be a bad idea, but it appears that I'm the only one who held up my end of that agreement.”

Patrick takes a breath. They haven’t talked about… being exclusive, not in so many words, but he’d hoped— 

“And you're upset about that because you still—”

“No!” David interrupts him again, horrified. “I’m not upset. I don't want any of that. It's… a principle thing. Look, can we just…” he leans in to kiss him but Patrick stops him. He’s starting to relax, and he musters up a teasing smile. He just needs another minute for his head to stop spinning.

“I knew you had a rich dating history, David. I just didn’t expect to be graced by the presence of two of your exes tonight,” he says with a grimace, and David nods.

“Yeah, funny thing, neither did I. So.”

“But,” Patrick continues carefully. “I also didn’t expect to be graced with the offer of  _ privacy _ tonight. So maybe it’s best if we lock that box back up for now, and head back to Schitt’s Creek.”

David nods quickly. “I think that’s a good idea,” he says with a grin and a shoulder shimmy that makes Patrick laugh. 

This time, when David leans in, Patrick doesn’t pull away.

* * *

“You signed up for the student showcase.”

Nearly three months into dating David, Patrick has gotten very used to his non sequiturs, but they’re not usually blurted this icily at him when he walks into the studio on a Sunday morning. 

“I did,” he says cautiously. The studio puts on showcases a few times a year and this one is specifically for beginners, to give them a chance to get used to performing without feeling like their routines will be washed out by more advanced students. Patrick hadn’t really considered it until he noticed the date the show fell on; David’s reactions to his monthly anniversary gifts so far have been a hilarious mix of horrified and secretly pleased, and when he realised the showcase would be on their four-month anniversary he’d written his name down with the vague notion of making some kind of romantic gesture. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” David asks hesitantly, and Patrick doesn’t know how to answer him. Because David is sweet and gentle and generous, and is forever looking at Patrick like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Patrick wants to make it clear that he is all in, but David doesn’t seem willing or able to hear it.

So if he won’t let Patrick tell him… well. Patrick will just have to show him.

“I only put my name down a couple of days ago,” he says, which is the truth. “It’s not like I would have sprung it on you at the showcase.”

Probably.

“Okay,” David says, squeezing his eyes shut. “Um, it’s just that all the other instructors think it’s hilarious that I didn’t know my boyfriend would be performing, and I don’t really—”

“What did you say?” Patrick blurts out once the shock of David’s words wears off. Privately, he’s thought of himself as David’s boyfriend for a long time — ever since the awkward but ultimately relief-inducing exclusivity conversation the morning after they stayed at Stevie’s — but David is so skittish at any indication of their future that he’s avoided saying it out loud.

“I said it’s embarrassing to not know what you were planning,” David says after a slight hesitation.

“Mm. Not knowing that your  _ boyfriend _ is performing,” Patrick says pointedly, trying desperately and failing to hide his smile.

David freezes. “Um, I don't remember saying that.”

“Well,” Patrick says, “if you don’t want your boyfriend to perform, I guess—”

“Okay, I definitely didn’t say that,” David cuts him off before backing him into the wall. His hands come up to frame Patrick’s face as he leans in, kissing him with a surety that, embarrassingly, tends to make Patrick literally weak in the knees. “Just as long as you don’t, you know, pick some horribly clichéd, uninspired song.”

And suddenly Patrick’s vague notion of a gesture sharpens and takes shape. Because David has very strong music opinions, and Patrick has gotten to know a lot of them over their time together. There’s one, in particular, that he can work with.

“Oh, I don’t think my boyfriend needs to worry about that.”

* * *

By the time the showcase rolls around Patrick is feeling confident on the pole. David has taken to using his Sunday training time as much for Patrick’s benefit as his own, which Patrick appreciates even if he’s pretty sure it’s rooted in his mission to figure out what song Patrick is planning to dance to. Patrick booked a couple of private lessons with Alison to help him work out his routine and when David found out he apparently tried to wheedle Patrick’s song selection out of her, but Alison’s lips were sealed. 

Every time David tries to dig into his plans for the showcase, Patrick redirects him. David is getting ready to compete in some national championship Patrick has never heard of but is apparently a huge deal, and that should be of much more pressing concern to him than Patrick’s beginner routine.

The night of the showcase, David is running late.

It’s not wholly unexpected, but nor is it helping Patrick’s nerves settle. The fact that Rachel has texted him a dozen times in the last few days begging to talk doesn’t help; he can’t stand still, pacing around backstage with an Ascension robe over his costume (and God, did that take a few pep talks to put on) when David finally comes barrelling in just one song before Patrick is due onstage and Patrick’s heart unclenches at the sight of him.

“Sorry!” he gasps, and gets an aggrieved  _ shhh _ from Olivia who is coordinating all the performers. “Sorry,” he says again, quieter. “Alexis made a friend and insisted on bringing her with us, so it took us longer than I thought to actually leave the motel.”

“It’s fine,” Patrick says. “You made it, that’s all I care about.”

David runs a finger along the opening of his robe. “Do I get a sneak preview?” he asks, teasing, and Patrick slaps his hand away.

“Do not,” he hisses, “get me all worked up before I have to go onstage.” 

David grins at him before leaning in for a quick, chaste kiss. “You’ll be great,” he says softly. Before Patrick can respond Olivia is at his elbow.

“You ready, Patrick?” she asks him, and Patrick takes a deep, shaky breath before he nods.

“Good luck,” David whispers with a double thumbs up. Patrick smiles back, deliberately turning his back before he gives Olivia his robe; he doesn’t want to risk David’s reaction to seeing him in his pole shorts distracting him.

When he walks onto the stage he can hear Alexis’ voice cheering above the rest of the crowd, but when he looks out at the audience he can’t see anything, too blinded by the lights. It’s only when the familiar tune starts that he risks a glance sideways, into the wings where he can clearly see David’s jaw has dropped, his face lit up with surprise and delight.

Patrick slides his hand up the pole to grip it above his head and inhales deeply. He can do this.

_ “I call you when I need you, and my heart’s on fire…” _

* * *

His heart is pounding by the time he stumbles offstage, adrenaline coursing through him even as he crashes into David’s embrace. David has his robe slung over one arm but doesn’t hand it over even when he pulls back, both hands gripping Patrick’s arms tightly as he shakes his head, overwhelmed.

“I can’t believe you did that,” he says. “You know what I think about that song, you know—”

“I do know,” Patrick says. “Not horribly cliched and uninspired, then?”

David grins. “No, definitely acceptable.” His eyes flick down to Patrick’s lips and Patrick is just starting to lean in when there’s a familiar voice behind him, saying his name.

He freezes. David looks over his shoulder, frowning in confusion as Patrick turns to face his ex-fiancée. She’s staring at him in puzzlement and Patrick suddenly feels horribly, uncomfortably exposed; he reaches back blindly until his hand finds the robe still hanging over David’s arm and he hastily pulls it on.

“Rachel, what are you doing here?” he asks, bewildered, just as David says, “Wait, how do you two know each other?”

_ Alexis made a friend and insisted on bringing her with us. _

Oh, God.

Patrick swallows twice, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. “She— we used to—”

“Patrick’s the fiancé I mentioned in the car,” Rachel says, and he hears David suck in a sharp breath behind him.

“I’m sorry, you have a fiancée?”

“No!” Patrick turns back to face him and almost, almost wishes he hadn’t; the hurt and shock on David’s face is unmistakable. “I mean, I don’t now. But yes, at some point, we were…”

“Patrick, what’s going on here?” Rachel asks carefully but Patrick doesn’t look at her, his eyes fixed on David.

“Okay,” David says, his jaw tight. “Um, I just think I might need a second.” He brushes past them both without another word, opening the side door and heading out into the night.

Patrick barely spares Rachel a glance. “I'll come and find you in a minute, we've got a lot to talk about,” is all he says before he goes racing after David.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, he finally finds Rachel sitting on the front steps. David asked him for time and Patrick will give it to him, no matter how much it hurts. Whatever David needs, for Patrick to fix this, he’ll do.

He sits down next to Rachel, forgetting for a moment that he’s still in just his robe and hissing slightly when the back of his thigh hits the cool concrete. They’re not quite touching and they don’t look at each other, staring out in front of them as Patrick tries to figure out where to start.

“How do you know David?” Rachel asks finally, breaking the tense silence.

Patrick presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I met him doing pole.”

There’s a long pause before Rachel sighs. She’s not stupid, Patrick knows, but he’d forgotten just how observant she can be. “And?”

“And…” he takes a deep breath, his skin clammy as he works up the nerve. “And he’s my boyfriend. Or… or was, maybe. I don’t know. I hope is.”

The silence stretches out again. When he finally risks glancing sideways Rachel is staring down at her lap, wringing her hands; it’s a nervous habit Patrick is intimately familiar with, one he always used to break by lacing their fingers together.

“Oh,” she says finally. “So you’re…”

“Gay,” he finishes softly. It’s only the third time he’s said it out loud, and the second to another person. Just David, and now Rachel. It’s fitting. “As it turns out… yeah. I’m gay.”

Her breath hitches. Patrick knows what she sounds like when she’s struggling not to cry and he hates it, hates knowing he’s still managing to upset her even six months after they’ve broken up. He itches to reach out and give her a hug but tucks his hands under his knees instead, not wanting to hurt her further.

“So that’s why we could never make it work,” she says dully. “Because you never actually loved me.”

“Rach,  _ no.” _ He can’t stop himself reaching out this time, dislodging his hand to bring it to her shoulder. “I did— I  _ do. _ Just not like I should have, not like you deserve. Not like—”

“Not like you love him,” she says, and Patrick rushes out a long breath. He hasn’t said that to David yet, knows he’s not ready to hear it, but— 

“Yeah. Yes.”

She doesn’t ask him to move his hand. “How long have you known?”

“I didn’t figure it out until came here,” he says softly. “I met David, and everything just… clicked.”

Another long silence as Rachel nods slowly. “And you didn’t tell him about us?” 

Patrick shakes his head.

She doesn’t ask why. She doesn’t need to, Patrick knows, because she knows him. She was there when he hid the fact that he was failing Chemistry from his parents until his school sent a letter home; when he gritted his teeth against his boss’ mistreatment because he couldn’t bring himself to approach HR; for every blowup fight he instigated over something she didn’t even know was a problem.

“Of course you didn’t,” is all she says, and the soft, almost teasing understanding in her voice almost shatters him. He can’t cry about his boyfriend in front of his ex. He can’t.

“I have to go,” he says, jumping up. He just wants to go home, have a shower and feel sorry for himself for a while. “Have you— are you—” 

“Alexis is waiting for me inside,” she says, and oh, God. Alexis came here with David. That’s going to be the world’s most awkward car ride back to Schitt’s Creek. The thought must show on his face because she just shrugs with a small smile.

“Listen,” she says, “I think I’m going to need some time with this.” And Patrick winces, because that’s word for word what David just told him. “But… I don’t want us to lose touch, okay?” She squeezes his hand. “We’ve known each other for fifteen years, Patrick. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

He doesn’t deserve her. “I’m glad.”

* * *

By some miracle, the house is empty when he gets home. He’s not sure where Ray is but he’s grateful to be able to fall apart in solitude, turning the shower on as hot as he can stand it before stepping in as if he could burn off every idiotic decision he made that led to the heartbreak on David’s face tonight. 

He’s back in his bedroom and is just tugging on a pair of pyjama pants when there’s a knock on the front door. Patrick glances at his phone with a frown; it’s nearly eleven and while this is Schitt’s Creek, he can’t think of any legitimate reason someone would come by this late. When they knock again Patrick sighs as he tugs a t-shirt over his head on his way downstairs — there’s always a chance Ray doesn’t have his keys for some reason, and he wrenches the door open in frustration at having his wallowing interrupted. 

It’s not Ray. It’s David. 

“Um,” Patrick says, and stops. When David asked for time he assumed it would be a couple of days, at least. His head hurts from crying in the shower and he can’t get his brain to work. 

“Can I come in?” David asks softly. Patrick stumbles back, giving him enough room to step through the doorway. As he closes the door, David glances around. 

“Ray’s out,” Patrick answers the unvoiced question. “David, what—” he clears his throat and starts again. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”

“Yeah, um, neither was I,” David replies. “But it may have been brought to my attention that I was being unfair. And a bit of a hypocrite. We both locked it up, and there’s a lot of things…” he trails off as Patrick stares, stunned. 

“What did Alexis say to you?”

“It wasn’t— okay, yes, she definitely yelled at me for a while. Asked me what I told  _ you. _ But, um,” he squints at the ceiling. “It was actually mostly Rachel?”

Patrick blinks, sure he misheard. “What?”

David nods. “She listened to Alexis most of the way home, and then said we were both idiots but that it sounded like I was trying to— actually, you know what? I’m not repeating it. But… she says what she thinks, doesn't she?” he finishes, wincing.

Patrick laughs, relief bubbling up inside him until it’s something close to hysteria. “What can I say?” he says when he finally gets himself under control. “I guess I have a type.”

As soon as he says it he wonders if it’s a mistake but thankfully, David bites back a smile before he takes a cautious step forward, his hands hovering for a moment before they come to rest on Patrick’s shoulders.

“We have a few things to talk about,” Patrick says softly. 

“We do.”

“Guess you should stay,” he continues, and holds his breath.

David’s smile is blinding in its sincerity. “Guess I should.”

* * *

Two months pass in a blur of dates and kissing and being so glad he gets to have this with David. There’s a night with pizza that has to wait because they can’t keep their hand off each other, there’s the private lesson Patrick still can’t think about without blushing, and best of all there are countless evenings brushing their teeth together and perfect mornings waking up with each other — even if some of those mornings feature more of Ray than either of them would like. 

Patrick graduates to level two classes, which means David is no longer his instructor but that’s probably for the best, for health and safety reasons. And as the national championship approaches, they spend more and more time in the studio outside of class times, David practising and tweaking his routine as Patrick films or jots down notes that are dictated from several feet above his head or just cheers him on with pride and excitement and love.

Because he does love David. He’s known it for months, since well before the student showcase and Rachel prodding him into admitting it out loud. He loves David’s dedication and perseverance and capability; loves his hyper-specific opinions and his stubbornness and his generosity.

One of these days, David will be ready for him to say it.

The championship is in Toronto and to David’s outward horror and, Patrick suspects, secret delight, there’s a whole convoy driving there from Schitt’s Creek. Patrick, of course, and Alexis; Stevie and Twyla are both coming, and even David’s parents are making the journey. Then there are a few instructors from the studio carpooling from Elmdale. 

They make the trip the night before to be on the safe side, and Patrick’s hopes of a road trip with just the two of them are dashed when Alexis crawls into the back seat. 

“I thought you were going with Stevie and Twyla?” David says through gritted teeth, but Alexis either doesn’t pick up on or decides to ignore his mood. Patrick drives, and listens to the Rose siblings switch between snarking at each other and squabbling over the music and gossiping, both about people they knew before they moved to Schitt’s Creek as well as a few names Patrick actually recognises.

“…and now that Christmas World is shutting down, Mandy is looking for a new job,” Alexis is saying, and David whips around in his seat so fast it makes Patrick jump.

“Wait, what?” 

David told him, very early on, about his dream for the space Christmas World eventually moved into. Rebranding local products and crafts under a unified brand was the sort of idea that would flourish in a town like Schitt’s Creek, and Patrick had told him so; he’d also thought, privately, that David was more animated in the ten minutes he talked about it than Patrick had ever seen him when talking about teaching pole.

David makes eye contact with him, eyes wide, and Patrick makes a mental note to find out who is in charge of the lease.

When they finally make it to the hotel they’d decided to splurge on they’re all exhausted from the drive, and Patrick hustles David to their room before he can get into another fight with Alexis. They crowd into the shower together before ordering room service; Patrick is expecting David to crawl into bed afterwards but instead he starts pacing, hands flailing as he starts voicing all his worst-case scenarios and Patrick calmly deflects every one.

When David finally runs out of steam Patrick gets up off the bed and slips his hands around David’s waist. “Come on, David,” he says softly. “Come to bed. Let me help you relax.”

David’s lip twitches. “If I can’t compete tomorrow because of a sex injury, you’re explaining it to Alison,” he says, but he’s already unbuttoning Patrick’s shirt.

Patrick smirks. “Oh, I think we can risk it.”

* * *

The stage is huge.

That’s the first thing Patrick thinks when they walk in; the stage is huge, with a pole on one side and an aerial hoop on the other. David had one of the last slots for his run-through because the men’s division is the last onstage, which meant he didn’t have to get up too early but also meant he’s been spinning out all day.

“Okay,” David says from beside him. “Okay, so this was clearly a mistake, and if we leave now we can get back to Schitt’s Creek before it gets too late and we never have to talk about this again. Okay. Great. Let’s go.”

Patrick shoots out a hand and grabs him by the wrist. “You’re not going anywhere, David,” he says firmly. He turns, letting go of David’s wrist to take both his hands in his own. “I have watched you do this routine literally a thousand times. You could do it in your sleep. But please don’t, in case you fall off the pole,” he adds, relieved when David huffs out something vaguely resembling a laugh.

David’s eyes finally meet his, and he nods slowly. “I can do this,” he whispers, and Patrick squeezes his hands.

“You can,” he says. “I know you can. And I don’t want to add more stress to your day, but I love you.”

David freezes and for one horrifying moment, Patrick thinks he’s badly miscalculated. Then he lets a stunned but genuine smile escape, and Patrick can breathe again.

“Okay,” David says. “So you just said that to me for the first time, knowing that it would make my day more stressful.”

Patrick grins. “That's correct.”

David presses his lips together as he nods. “Because you know that I've never said that to anyone else, aside from my family twice and one time at a—”

“Mariah Carey concert, I know,” Patrick cuts him off. “And I don't expect you to say it back to me right now. Say it when you’re ready. It just felt right to me, in the moment.”

David bites his lip.

“You’re my Mariah Carey,” he adds, because right from the start David’s reactions have been a source of delight, and that hasn’t gone away in their six months together.

“Okay,” David says thickly, his eyes shining. “That compliment could bring me to tears, but I’m not going to let it. I…” 

Patrick holds his breath.

“…would like to thank you for all the wonderful things that you said,” David continues. And truly, Patrick didn’t expect him to say it back straight away, but he can’t help the flare of disappointment deep in his gut.

“I have to do my run-through,” David says, biting his lip. “And then I probably need to… stay… backstage. So I’ll see you after?”

Patrick steps forward and kisses him, deeper than he normally would in public, his hands on the small of David’s back. When he pulls away David is gasping, and Patrick grins at him.

“Good luck, David,” he says and David nods, a little dazed.

“Thanks,” he says before he heads for the stage.

Patrick lets out a deep breath. “That went well,” he mutters. 

* * *

David is amazing. Of course he is. 

Patrick basically has his routine memorised at this point but he’s awestruck nonetheless; David moves like the pole is an extension of his body, athleticism and sensuality on full display. When he finishes, with an inverted drop that always makes Patrick’s heart skip a beat no matter how many times he watches David do it successfully, it’s not just the Schitt’s Creek and Elmdale contingent who are on their feet stamping and cheering.

Patrick can’t wait another second to congratulate him. He slips past Twyla and Stevie, who are wearing matching knowing grins, before ducking out the doors and heading around the side of the building. He finds the stage door, mercifully open, and slips inside only to run smack into the very person he was seeking out.

“David, that was—”

David cuts him off, crashing their lips together with no regard for the people milling around them, his hands gripping Patrick’s face like a lifeline. When he pulls back his eyes are wet and Patrick knows what’s about to happen, he knows, he knows.

“I love you,” David whispers, and Patricks heart bursts open.

"You know," he says softly, “this is one of those perfect moments that you dream about.” David closes his eyes, making no effort to stop the tears from falling as he leans in for another kiss, and another, and another.

Patrick loses track of time, so wrapped up in the moment that he almost doesn’t hear the words over the microphone; as it is, their meaning takes a few moments to filter through. 

“David,” he gasps, pulling away even as David tries to reel him closer. “David, you won.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 💙


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